Regrets
by mvdiva
Summary: Schindler's thoughts one night on his run from the Allies (Takes place a few days after he left his factory for the last time.)


iThis story is dedicated to my boyfriend, Mike and his grandfather. (His grandfather, who is Jewish, saw his parents gunned down in front of him by Nazis while living in the ghetto in Europe during the War.)/i Obviously none of these characters belong to me, and I make no money off of this, yada yada yada.  
  
  
  
Everything made him jumpy nowadays. The slightest creak outside his door had made him jump up in terror, hitting his knees on the edge of the small table more than once. With trembling hands, he drew out a cigarette from a pack lying on the floor.  
  
Oskar Schindler lit the cigarette, one of the precious few he had left, and puffed gently into the already smoke-filled air of the small hotel room. His feet were not propped up on the table as usual, but carefully planted under; like the legs of a proper German businessman should be.   
He snorted to himself, smoke whistling out his nostrils. "Proper, eh, Oskar? I think you are the most improper businessman in Europe!" He chuckled lightly. That little mental voice, as much as he resented it, was entirely correct. Realizing that the cigarette had burned almost to his fingertips, he stubbed it out in the ashtray near his right hand. "Why, you made items that didn't even work…on purpose!" The whiny voice in his head insisted. Oskar resisted the urge to smack it away…funny how it had started to sound like his nagging Emilie recently.   
  
Abruptly he stood up, sensing that there was someone at the door. Tensing, he waited for a knock, or even worse, the sound of Allies trying to break his door down, but the door stayed silent.   
Forcing himself to relax, Oskar laid down gingerly on the bed. This dingy hotel room was the best he could afford right now. His fortune was gone, taken from him the moment he started to rattle off names while Itzhak typed and complained about his smoking.   
  
His suit coat hung from the nail on the back of his door, stained and full of holes. Schindler frowned as he remembered the small red and black pin that had caused the hole on his lapel.  
That had bought him what, two, possibly three Jews? He couldn't remember anymore. So much bargaining for lives had cost him so many things. He turned over onto his back and stared at the water stained ceiling. The stains slowly swam into faces in his sudden blurred vision.   
He remembered the hundreds of faces staring up at him from his spot on the bridge as they waited together for midnight. How his heart had hammered, waiting for each of the guards to aim their rifles instead of stepping away from their posts.   
  
And afterwards, oh! He held up his shaking hand to see the glint of the gold ring that still rested on his finger. It seemed to glow in the dark smoke filled room. He clenched his hand to his chest and covered it with the other.   
Tears came then. Perhaps as many as the people he had saved. They flowed for an eternity as he thought of how much more he could have done. Damn his pride! When his hands had fumbled and dropped the ring, the precious ring in the gravel, he had wanted to die. It was the symbol of the Jews' gratitude to him; and he had dropped it.   
Did he deserve their gratitude? No, never in a million years. They looked up at him from that bridge with tears in their eyes. Families separated, loved ones killed; shot in front of them, maybe, and what had he lost? Money? Bah, money could be replaced. Perhaps he had lost Emilie...no. They had parted long before he had ever heard of Itzhak Stern.   
  
Schindler finally wiped away his tears. "Lying here in this dingy hotel room is not so bad now, is it Oskar?" His wife's voice crooned. He raised his head to take in the surroundings. This was better than he deserved. The time would come soon when he would have to run because of what he had been, but perhaps, just perhaps...he had done something worthwhile.  
Soothed by that thought, Oskar Schindler drifted off to sleep.   



End file.
